“Unless you guys want the same treatment, we should probably go,” Zara says with a nod toward the coffee shop. All the women inside had their noses pressed to the glass as they watched us deal with the Bushrangers. When they move toward the doors, Chrome whistles.
“Back to the clubhouse. Now!”
I help Zara crawl into the SUV before shifting to allow Tony to follow. “Why don’t you both come back to the clubhouse for now? I know you’re staying at the hotel, Tony, but we need to talk about what’s going on.”
“I’m sticking with Zara,” Tony says. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”
Chrome takes the lead back to the clubhouse while the rest of us surround the SUV. We won’t give the Bushrangers a chance to intercept Zara. I keep a lookout for the other club just in case, but I don’t spot anyone tailing us. It’s likely they already know the location of our clubhouse, but why lead them right to it if they don’t?
I’m relieved when I spot Mode’s bike as we pass through the gates. I wasn’t sure he had enough time to do what he planned and get out before the Bushrangers returned to their motel. I wait for the SUV to stop so I can help Zara out. Taking her hand, I lead her inside, where we find a bigger surprise waiting for us.
CHAPTER 16: ZARA
Bush’s hand swallows mine as we walk toward the clubhouse doors, and I try not to read too much into the way his fingers lace so naturally with mine. His callous palm is warm and solid. My hand fits perfectly in his.
It’s ridiculous that something so small makes my heart do this stupid little flutter, but it does. My fingers curl tighter around his as we climb the steps, like I need to memorize their shape. I feel as if I let go, I might lose something important.
The clubhouse door swings open before we even reach it, music and laughter spilling out into the night air—the scent of leather, beer, and something smoky wraps around us as we step inside.
And that’s when everything changes. Bush immediately drops my hand. There is no reluctance, just an emptiness.
One second, he has me anchored to his side, the next, he’s gone.
“Holy hell,” he mutters, already moving past me.
I turn just in time to see a beautiful blonde woman launch herself at him.
She’s stunning. Long, glossy hair that falls down her back in soft waves. Her brilliant smile splits her face. She has flawlessskin, and she’s wearing a leather kutte like the one Bush is wearing—the same patches except for the bottom rocker. Hers reads "Las Vegas" instead of "Chicago".
Before I can process what I’m seeing, Bush scoops her up like she weighs nothing.
He laughs—a full, unrestrained sound I don’t think I’ve heard from him before—and swings her around in a circle.
She squeals, throwing her head back, her laughter bright and carefree. His hands are firm on her waist. The familiarity and intimacy twist something low in my stomach.
He sets her down but keeps his hands on her for a second too long. They’re both grinning at each other like they share a hundred private jokes.
Then another blonde steps forward.
This one is taller. Thin in that effortless, model way. Perfect posture. Perfect makeup. Perfect everything. She’s wearing a kutte too, same as the first woman. She moves with the kind of confidence that says she’s used to being watched.
Bush pulls her into a hug without hesitation.
She presses close. Very close. Too close.
I suddenly become hyperaware of myself. My simple blouse. My practical boots. The way my hair probably looks like a rat’s nest after running my hands through it so often today. I feel small and ordinary. I’m completely out of place in a room filled with leather-clad women who look like they stepped off a runway.
The music feels louder now, and the laughter sharper.
Bush is still talking to them. He’s animated and happy. His ease with them makes something ache in my chest. I don’t belong here. I’m just an outsider. He probably sees me as the young girl he once protected. I could never compete with them.
“Guess he missed them.”
The voice slides in beside me, sugary and sharp at the same time.
Crystal.
I recognize her instantly—the platinum hair, the glossy lips, the way she leans in like we’re conspirators instead of strangers. One of the Kutte Bunnies. She hooks her arm casually through mine before I can react.
